Between the Lines
by jusXtrust
Summary: Karai wants Leo. And she'll have him. Like she always had, just as she always will.


Title: Between the Lines

Summary: Karai wants Leo. And she'll have him. Like she always had, just as she always will.

AN: Set between What Doesn't Hurt and the as of yet unnamed (and not even started) sequel, a look into Karai's side. If you haven't read What Doesn't Hurt, this still makes sense. One-shot, no plans to continue this thread of thought. 2k12 with a mix of 2k3.

/-/-/-/

It started small. Like a breath, absently taken.

Leonardo was nothing like anyone Karai had met before. He was noble and bright. And at the same time, she could see it. There was a darkness in him that was waiting for her. It called out the first night they met. Finally something with a little excitement.

Their encounters were random. He'd interfere with her mission and she would interfere with his. It was mutually counter-productive. She found herself looking forward to those happenstances. He was so predictable, so clichéd and nervous around her. She knew she had him. She knew he wanted to dance.

She latched on, unknowingly. Like spurs to cotton socks.

She should have let it go. It would have been so much easier. But she never liked the easy way out. And that was something she shared with Leo. He liked the edge. He thirsted for it. He wanted to push himself to his limit, to prove himself. And she could show him how.

Like a spark in the middle of the night, she could finally make out a clear path.

She jumped with Leo one night from rooftop to rooftop, effortlessly sliding through the New York smog, above blazing police sirens. He kept glancing over his shoulder, around the edges of the buildings that hid him so well. He stared at the encroaching darkness, but Karai had the upper hand. He kept out of sight, but she could follow. She'll always follow.

She supposes it could have been gradual. Like grains of sand slipping through your fingers, steady and rough and warm. Like friendships that blossom, growing from small moments and forming something stronger, something substantial.

But she doesn't think so.

One day, they met. And somewhere between that first day and their next meeting, she couldn't think of a world without him. Her heart did this odd, little beat when she saw him. Her eyes wouldn't leave his form. She memorized the whirling pattern on his shell one night, when the rain caught him and his brothers underneath some eaves on the GE building. She stared. The water glistened in the odd patches of yellow light, a barrier between him and her. His skin was a muted forest green. His eyes like a stormy ocean. Deep, deep blue overcast with silver. She wondered then, if drowning was anything like this. Like her heart was melting into her stomach and this unbearable need to run or kick or something until she could breathe. He'd seen her that time. Even smiled at her. She frowned back. She hadn't wanted to get close. She hadn't known what to make of it.

She thinks its love.

Love is like oxygen. You want it. You need it. You live for it or with it, in it and around. And once you taste it, it hurts so very much without it. She's never had so many swirling emotions. It has to be love.

What else could it be?

In a fragment of time and space they'd been together.

She'd lost count the number of times they'd danced. He's always brilliant. Grace and poise and perfection incarnate. A slight smile forms on his lips and his swords gleam in the moonlight. They twirled in the dark. Clashing metal and whistling wind. It was easy to forget everything else except for the one in front of her. She could do it forever. She wants it. She ever so does.

A second and eternity.

She's not sure when it starts. Maybe it's already in motion. Like flipping on the TV, she's not sure if she's at the beginning or end or somewhere in the middle. They're dancing again. His mask tails fluttering in the wind. His muscles rippling. His entire focus on her and her alone. It's thrilling. Magical and yet, so very sweet. She wants that focus, that passion, centered on her forever. Was that the second time they met? Or the third?

Perhaps they've always done this. Perhaps they've never stopped.

It's inconsequential. There's always more to a story than the parts shown. There was the time before and the time ahead. Then there are the spots in the middle when things can easily fall through the cracks, like so many missing puzzle pieces.

It's inconsequential. Because the story still makes sense, the picture still comes through.

It's inconsequential.

She and Leo danced that night. On a rooftop deep in the middle of the city. He smiles so brightly, full of hope and something she couldn't exactly name. She didn't think her grin would match. It felt like mere moments, but then the sun broke the horizon. Light gray dusk filling the city sky.

Time is an illusion. She has known since the beginning, as she has always known.

It was so clear. So perfectly lain out.

She'd have him.

All of him.


End file.
